


Fortune's Favor

by youjik33



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youjik33/pseuds/youjik33
Summary: Everett hasn't had a lot of experience with the whole pickpocketing thing. When he accidentally nabs something a little more valuable than copper coins, his life would be a whole lot easier if he could stop feeling guilty about it.
Relationships: Wandering Sword-for-Hire/The Boy Who Tried to Pick his Pocket (OW)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Fortune's Favor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mautadite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/gifts).



Everett pulled his hood up against the rain, flexed his fingers, and did his best to slow his breathing. This wasn’t his first lift, but it might as well have been from the way his heart was hammering away. A cold spring drizzle didn’t fall so much as hang in the air, and those out on the streets were doing their best to get away from it; a perfect opportunity to snag a purse from a distracted pedestrian. Everett quickened his pace as he approached his mark. The man was bigger than he’d looked from a distance, at least a head taller than himself, and broad-shouldered, but there was no time to hesitate now. Everett bumped into the man's side as he hurried past, faked a stumble.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he hurried away. The man gave a noncommittal grunt in reply.

Things had gone perfectly. He had no reason to think the man suspected anything, but he still took a few unnecessary turns on the way to the tavern, feeling the weight of the leather purse in his hand with a sense of relief. The windows of the White Badger glowed warm and welcome ahead, and he gave a nod to Hazel behind the bar as he entered, slipping into a back corner. 

He could almost sense her frowning at him; of course she knew what he’d been up to. He hoped she’d given up on chastising him for thievery now that she understood just how badly he needed the coin. 

There weren’t many patrons here so early in the evening, and Everett felt confident no eyes were on him as he carefully emptied the pouch of its contents. More coin than he’d hoped; mostly copper, but a couple larger silver ones, with some stamped floral marking he’d never seen before. Foreign, but the metal meant they’d spend as well as anything else. There was also a piece of jewelry, some kind of pendant, and after he quickly counted up the coins and put the majority back in the pouch, he kept it out as he made his way to the bar.

“A pint, Hazel,” he said as he slapped a couple of coppers onto the bar. “And a bowl of whatever’s cooking, please.”

Her mouth thinned, and she shook her head at him, but took his money all the same. The stew she dropped in front of him was fabulous, rich beef broth and heavy on the carrots. 

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble one of these days,” Hazel said with a sigh.

“I’m already in trouble,” Everett shot back. “You know that.”

“Fair,” she said, flicking honey-brown out of her eyes with one hand. “You know you can find work here whenever you need it.”

“And I appreciate that. But I also know you can’t possibly afford to pay me enough to get me out from under Greeley and his goons.” He took a swig of the beer, and turned his attention to the pendant. A silver oval, about the size of the last joint of his thumb; there was a bit of engraved scrollwork around the edge, but nothing particularly fancy. Still, he could probably get a decent price if he hawked it. Everett turned it over, and realized that it was actually a locket. He dug his thumbnail into the seam, trying not to get his hopes up, but it was possible there was some kind of jewel or other valuable tucked inside. He laid it down on the bar and pried the front open carefully, not wanting to lose whatever it contained, and immediately swore to himself.

The locket didn’t contain a piece of jewelry at all, but a bit of hair. It was a light brown, about two inches long, and tied together with a black thread. 

“Dammit,” he said again. He could take coin from a person without more than the merest twinge of guilt, so long as they looked like they could afford it; this was another matter entirely. 

“What is it?” Hazel asked, with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Apparently I’ve just stolen some poor man’s mourning jewelry,” he said, closing the locket again. “He must’ve broken the chain and tucked it into his purse temporarily.” Everett grimaced. “I don’t suppose I have any way of giving it back. Even if I found him again, how would I explain myself?” 

“If you’re lucky,” a voice rumbled from behind him, “He’d be so relieved at its return that he’d find a bit of mercy in the depths of his heart.”

Everett froze. His first instinct was to flee, but that was impossible; the man looming behind him was near twice as wide as he was. There was nowhere to go. 

“Sir,” he managed, voice only shaking a little. “I’m so relieved you’re here. You seem to have dropped this.” He turned on his stool slowly, getting a good look at the man’s face for the first time. Square, stubbled jaw, and eyes like gray steel; one hand rested comfortably on his sword hilt, and Everett realized things could get very bad for him very quickly. 

But as he handed the locket back, the steel in the swordsman’s eyes softened a bit. “Indeed,” he said. “My thanks.”

Everett couldn’t believe his luck, though he saw the other man’s eyes flick to the bowl and mug on the counter and knew what he was seeing. A skinny young man in a worn cloak, thieving for the chance to eat today; he wasn’t thrilled about being the object of pity, but if it got him out of a bad situation, he’d take it. 

"I'd fancy a pint, but I seem to be a bit low on funds at the moment," the man said, eyes still on Everett.

“On the house,” Hazel said before Everett could respond. The stranger thanked her as she slid him the mug, and then nodded toward the corner table Everett had been lurking in moments before.

“Care to join me?” he asked.

Everett, not sure he had much say in the matter, shrugged and followed.

“Word of advice,” the swordsman said as he eased into his chair. “If you want to find any success in your current profession, you’ve gotta kill the guilty conscience.”

“Thanks,” Everett said dryly. “Petty crime wasn’t exactly my childhood dream, you know.”

“No, I don’t suppose it was.” Everett tried not to squirm under the other man’s gaze. His eyes were so intense, it was like he was looking right inside Everett, trying to size him up. “Name’s Garrick, by the way,” he said finally.

“Everett.” Now seemed like a good time to focus on his stew.

“So what was your childhood dream, Everett?”

Was he trying to be friends, or did he have some kind of long con in mind? Garrick certainly didn’t seem angry at all that Everett was still holding his coin purse.

“I wanted to be a shepherd, actually.”

One of Garrick’s thick dark brows lifted. “Really.”

“Really. My family had a little shop in the square, selling yarn and bolts of wool that they bought from local farms. I always thought it sounded romantic, lying in a field with a bunch of sheep. I suppose I thought it was all napping in a meadow with a dog at my side. Alas, I seem to have fallen short of such lofty ambitions.”

“Indeed.”

Everett poked at a carrot with his spoon. "So, anything else you want to know? My life story?"

Garrick shrugged. "The barmaid, are the two of you...?

"What, Hazel?" Everett smiled. "We're good friends. She's more like a sister to me." Actually, he and Hazel had made an effort at a romantic relationship, once upon a time, but it hadn't quite worked out, mostly because it turned out their interests lay in different directions entirely. The realization had brought them closer as friends, to be sure. Nowadays Hazel was having a quiet relationship with the butcher's daughter, and Everett, well, Everett had a few awkward fumbles in alleys and back rooms with the few men he felt bold enough to approach. He felt no reason to mention any of this to the stranger, even if he was handsome. Especially because he was handsome.

"I see," Garrick said.

Everett was almost looking forward to more monosyllabic responses, but their conversation was interrupted by the tavern door banging open and an all-too-familiar voice saying “Hazel, my dear! How are you this lovely evening?”

Everett was under the table before the door had even hit the wall.

“Greeley,” Hazel said, and Everett appreciated the ice in her voice. “Would you or your colleagues care for a pint?”

Everett felt his stomach sink at the word “colleagues”. He couldn’t see much behind the thick wooden support of the table, but from the thudding of boots on the floor he guessed Greeley had brought at least two men with him.

“I’m afraid not, lovely. I’m here on business. I heard a mutual friend of ours was here, and his payment is rather overdue.”

“Cut to the chase, Greeley. We both know you mean Everett. And I haven’t seen him around.”

“Really.” Greeley’s fingers tapped impatiently on the bar. Everett could just imagine his smug stupid face, the ostentatious rings he always wore. “I don’t suppose you’d have any reason to lie to me, would you?”

"Never." Hazel's voice dripped with sweetness, and Everett smiled, curling himself into a tight ball behind the table support. 

"And you, my good man," Greeley said. Everett could see his shoes crossing the room, the booted feet of his underlings a few steps behind him. "I don't suppose you've seen a scruffy young man, dark hair, about yea high, skinny as a rail, lurking about this establishment?"

Everett stopped breathing. Garrick's leather-booted thigh pressed tight up against his side, and somehow that made him feel better.

"Can't say that I have," he said.

"Hm. And are you regularly in the habit of drinking two mugs of beer at a time?"

"Sure, when I'm thirsty."

Everett wished he could see the staredown that was doubtless taking place on top of the table. It might be nice to see the steel in Garrick's eyes turned on someone else for a change.

After a moment that dragged on entirely too long, Greeley's feet turned toward the door. "Well, my dear, do send him my way if you spot him. And tell him he'd best have payment in full if he knows what's good for him."

The door swung shut behind him, and Everett crawled out from under the table just in time to see the rude gesture Hazel flashed at it. "'My dear,' don't make me laugh," she muttered. "I hope you choke."

Garrick wordlessly held his hand out, and Everett took it without thinking. The other man pulled him easily to his feet, and Everett was struck by the roughness of his hands. The hand of a man who knew how to use that sword, surely.

"Thank you," Everett muttered. "You didn't have to do that."

"I consider myself a fairly good judge of character most of the time," Garrick said. "And that man was a complete knob."

  
“You don’t know the half of it,” Hazel said with a laugh.

“I should probably be going,” Everett said.

“So soon? You haven’t finished your stew.” Garrick leaned back in his chair, draining his mug in one long pull.

He had a point. Everett picked up his spoon and gulped down what was left, scraping the sides of the bowl. Waste not. “Hazel,” he said as he dropped the empty dishes onto the bar, “you’re a saint.”

“You take care of yourself,” she said. “He seemed even more unpleasant than usual today.”

“Hey,” Garrick’s voice rumbled. Everett turned to him as he pulled his hood up. “You gonna be all right?”

“Oh, sure,” Everett said with a grin. “My luck’s holding pretty well so far today, isn’t it?”

  
  


The rain had let up, but a damp chill pervaded the air. A sliver of moonlight managed to cut its way through the cloud cover. Everett’s room wasn’t far from the tavern, and he moved at a brisk pace.

Almost immediately he sensed that he was being followed. Paranoia? He turned a corner, conscious of the footsteps behind him. He paused; they paused. Had Greeley sent someone to wait for him? That seemed pointless; the man knew where he lived, after all.

Everett ducked through a side street. The ramshackle building he called home was just ahead. But he was so focused on the footsteps behind him that he didn’t even notice the men who detached themselves from the shadows next to the rain-barrel until it was too late.

One of them pushed him up against the wall, hard, air rushing from his lungs. “So the rat comes crawling out of his hole,” he said with a dark chuckle.

"Better a rat than a dog on a leash."

The man slapped him hard enough Everett’s vision went white for a moment. “This is pointless,” he said, tasting blood where his lip had split. “Your boss hasn’t given me enough time, and I’m sure he knows that. He just loves siccing his dogs so very much, doesn’t he?”

The man’s hand raised again, but before he could strike, a voice from behind him rumbled, “Touch him again and you won’t live to regret it.”

“Shit,” the other thug said, fumbling for his dagger.

“I don’t think so,” Garrick said coolly, the point of his sword touching the back of the man’s neck before any of them had so much as seen him move. “Let the boy be, and you can go crawling back to your master with all your limbs intact.”

The man holding Everett against the wall met his compatriot’s gaze, then gave a curt nod and sent Everett slumping against the ground. “You know this isn’t over,” he said. “Not until you pay Mr. Greeley what he’s owed.”

“What? I owe him money? I hadn’t the foggiest idea,” Everett said sarcastically. The men scowled, and the one Garrick had threatened spat on the cobblestones as the departed, but they seemed unwilling to risk their chances with the large swordsman.

“You all right?” Garrick said, helping Everett to his feet for the second time that evening.

“Oh, just dandy,” Everett said. “A little bruising is nothing new.”

Garrick took Everett’s chin in his hand, eyeing his wounded face. “You should get that cleaned up.”

“I’ll manage.” Everett’s throat had gone dry. “I suppose I owe you thanks again. You were following me from the Badger, weren't you.”

“I was afraid something like this might happen. Do you believe in fate?”

“No,” Everett said flatly.

“Fair enough. You have a room nearby?”

Everett looked up the side of the building at his shuttered window. If Greeley’s goons had been waiting for him in the street, surely there wouldn’t be more ready to ambush him in his home. “You wanna escort me? How gallant.”

Garrick snorted, unamused, but followed Everett up the creaky wooden steps to his apartment.

The room was, as expected, devoid of any unwelcome intruders. As Everett lit the lamp and tossed his cloak onto the peg by the door, he was struck by how much larger than life Garrick looked here in this tiny and familiar space. Not to mention handsome. He’d been aware of that before, but not really allowed himself to realize it.

“How much do you owe him?” Garrick asked, hanging up his own damp cloak.

“Does it matter?” Everett stoked up the coals in the fire, warming his chilled hands. “Why, do you have a secret stash of gold buried outside of town? You’re going to come in and buy me out from under my family’s debts and restore my status? How noble of you. My hero.”

“No,” Garrick said. “I was actually wondering why you don’t just leave.”

“Nowhere to go,” Everett said with a shrug. “I don’t think I’d survive long living in the forest, trying to hunt my own game. Everything I ever knew was here. All my family was here.” He threw himself onto the single rickety armchair next to the fireplace, legs draped over the arm rest. “You haven’t even asked me why I’m so in debt. I find that curious.”

“I can guess,” Garrick said. He crossed the room, but not before unbuckling his sword belt and leaving it against the wall near the door. Everett appreciated the gesture, but to be honest, the man’s sheer size meant that even unarmed, he wasn’t any less intimidating. “You mentioned a family business. Your father died, and you discovered some business debts you couldn’t repay?”

“Ooh, very nearly there,” Everett said. “Yes, Father died, when I was fourteen. My dear older brother took over the business, and proceeded to drink and gamble away the profits until nothing was left. It took him less than five years. Then he borrowed money from Greeley and gambled that away, too.”

“So why isn’t Greeley bothering your brother about it, and not you?” The only other chair in the room was a spindly wooden thing that, miraculously, did not collapse when Garrick lowered himself onto it.

“Because he stepped in front of a carriage six months ago. I’m not entirely sure Greeley hadn’t set that carriage on him, to be honest, though it’s just as likely it was a drunken accident. Or maybe he stepped in front of it deliberately. Either way, he’s gone, and his debts have moved to his lucky next of kin.”

Everett sighed. “And now you’ve heard my whole tragic tale, I may as well hear yours. Dead sweetheart, I assume?”

Garrick pulled the silver locket from a pouch on his belt; it winked in the firelight. “You could say that. We were brothers-in-arms, best friends, lovers, two halves of a soul. When he died part of me was lost. I didn’t think I’d ever find it again.”

Everett stared at him, not believing the words he’d just heard spoken so casually. “You...” He slid from the chair, paced the few steps from chair to wall, wall to window, suddenly restless. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You asked.”

“He. I didn’t mishear you.”

“No.”

“You aren’t worried I’d be disgusted?”

“Are you?”

The room was so small. He paced its width four times, then five. Two chairs, fireplace, window, bed. And this man that seemed to fill it entirely, with his steel eyes and his callused hands and his voice that vibrated in Everett’s very core.

“No,” he said. He stopped, faced Garrick again. The fire had banked up, and the room seemed very warm.

“You could come with me,” Garrick said quietly. “I’ve spent the last few years as a sellsword, mostly guarding merchant travelers on the trade routes. I could use someone, an extra hand to help carry supplies.”

“You could get yourself a pack mule.”

“I could,” Garrick said with a smile. “But I do believe in fate. And I don’t think the way we met was a coincidence. It's not such a dangerous life, you know; most bandits are put off just seeing guards hanging about. We could probably even find you a grassy meadow to nap in.”

“I barely know you,” Everett said. But as Garrick rose and crossed the room to meet him, he breathed, “But I want to.”

Their lips met. Garrick had to stoop to kiss him, and in the back of Everett’s mind he wondered if it might not be more easily accomplished if he stood on a stool. He clutched the front of Garrick’s shirt, breathless and eager and open-mouthed, and Garrick laughed a little as they parted.

It occurred to Everett that the other man could pick him up and throw him over his shoulder, if he were so inclined. He would have to request it, once he worked up the nerve.

“Well?” Garrick asked. “What have you got to lose?”

Everett thought about what he’d be leaving behind. Names carved on stone in the local churchyard. A room that had always felt like more of a hiding place than a home. The sight of his family’s old shop taken over by someone else.

He’d miss Hazel. She was his only real friend here. But he’d give her a proper goodbye and a portion of the coin stash he’d hidden around his room before he left.

“All right,” he said. “But it’s not fate. It’s fortune.”


End file.
